


Vast Mountains

by lanedoca



Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: English, Non-binary Reader - Freeform, Other, Reader is deaf, Sign Language, Treating Wounds, Whump, takes place in the dominican republic, trans doomguy but not really implied i’m sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29866209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanedoca/pseuds/lanedoca
Summary: you encounter someone, and as you look further, you decide to help him.
Relationships: Doom Slayer | Doomguy/Reader, Doom Slayer | Doomguy/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Vast Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> please note that this is a sort of first-time whump fic (as well as studying spanish). just like the reader in this story, i am also dominican. frankly, i’d like to see other ethnicities and sexualities in the x reader tag, but upon only reading the majority of them with white cisgender characters, i figured i’d make the shots. please, do not read if you do not like, but with that out of the way, enjoy this piece.

No, you cannot see the last days in your years, you cannot. You don't know why you can't hear and speak. But you can see, God bless you, you can see. You almost cried for the first time, the cold and the rain touching your body. The green mountains, the groves growing with very pretty bananas, and the red and yellow and orange flowers. The mosquitos biting your legs and your hands, you are alone, in the vast field. You went here on your motor to see nature, and you stayed at your grandfather's house. He lived here with his brothers and sisters before he died, when you were a bitcha. Lots of dead cockroaches and spiders and mosquitoes were left on top of your family's beds, and in the kitchen too. You are afraid of those animals but you clean the whole house, the only positive thing is the butterflies that land in your hand. You breathe softly, it's finished raining and the cool wind blows through the trees. The mangoes from a nearby tree are ripe, and you grab one from its branch.

You can't hear the cat purring in your face, only feel the orange fur, giving that blessed feline love in the balcony. You are happy and you laugh when the sun comes out with the clouds, watching little birds play with the horses and the cows eating wheat. The flies wander at the table, looking for food but seeing a death by your hand. The day is getting good now, and now, you did not feel sad. You walk in the nature of Jarabacoa and escape the reality of your life for a moment. Your frizzy hair getting cold, eating your mango, and your cat rubbing it’s skinny little body against your leg. Your tan skin glowing as you stroll among the hilltops. The dogs run and chickens too.

But, as you go down the trail, you notice something bright. Hiding behind the thick leaves of the vast jungle. You walk towards it slowly, not bothering to eat another piece of your fruit. You squint, trying to find the source, pushing the leaves aside. And from his point of view, all he could see was some kind of knife. You drop the fruit by surprise and the knife pulls away a bit. You gasp silently because all you can see is a large man lying on his stomach. Wounded, with blood in his hair and on his face. He was unconscious on the jungle floor and, judging from his cuts all over his body of armor, he had a big fight. You stay still. Your sudden anxiety runs through your chest, your hands are shaking, and you start to sweat down your neck. You debate for a while, struggling to accept it or not. But after a long moment, you decide to help him. One way or another, you managed to climb up to where he was and use all your strength to lift him up and carry him on your back. You groan at the heavy shape of him, lowering yourself slowly so you don't fall completely. After that, you return to your cabin.

———-

He woke up hours after being placed in the bed you planned to sleep in. The bandages on his neck, shoulders, and arms offered some help to stop the bleeding, but when you walk into the room with food and notice him attempting to get up, you calm him down by putting the food aside and putting him back to bed. You opened the window to let in fresh air and he looked at you with a kind of emotion you couldn't describe. You assume he's somewhere between angry and sentimental, but you're not sure. The chicks walked by the bed he stayed in, and you brought your food plate to him. It was toasty, light, but it helped with his nutrition. The wounded man snatched the plate from him and ate it like there was no tomorrow, gobbling the food down in a matter of minutes. The birds flew up to the bed and pecked at the breadcrumbs on the floor. Neither you nor he cared, and you brought him a small glass of water to bring it to him as well. In which he swallowed the cold liquid in seconds. You were surprised by how desperate he was with the food and you start beckoning him.

You touch him on the shoulder and, once he has noticed you, you sign: "I couldn't take off your armor, so I wrapped it on top. You were terribly hurt." He looked at you and somehow understood. You sign again: "I can't hear very well, I apologize if you don't understand me." And miraculously, he signed too, saying, "Okay. I can't speak well either. Thank you for treating me, but how long was I gone?" He thought about the question for a moment and replied, "Six hours." The man almost coughs with the answer and you sign again, "Are you okay?" He nods his head and you're relieved, but surprised that he knew sign language as well as you do. You are happy that there is another soul who knows what you know too. And you breathe softly as you look out the window.

"Do you have more food?" He signed. You nod your head, heading straight for the kitchen. Grabbing some extra toast from his kitchen plate, as well as get yourself a cup of hot oatmeal, and then hurry back. directly to the room. He takes it as you sit in the chair next to him, and you notice a small spider crawling down the window pane, catching a fly caught in its web. You squint your eyes. You do nothing but watch the arachnid wrap its long legs around the fly. You grip the handle of your mug, and while the bandaged man was eating the toast you gave him, you drink your hot milk in large gulps. When you finished, the fly was already wrapped in a white, transparent cocoon. Immovable by the venom of the spider. The guts are already liquefying. You stare at that spider, as you can already feel the fly's pain. It entered its parlor, naive, tricked, and most importantly, deceived.

You touch his shoulder again, and you look at him. "Do you have a name or a title, perhaps?" You sign and he nods. Wiping his mouth after finishing his second cup of water you gave to him, he signed, "You can call me Slayer. I'm not interested in staying here much longer anyway." He frowns at his response, but you respect her anyway. The cold wind hits hard when you feel it through your dark curly hair, it's getting late. "It's almost night, are you sure you want to stay?" You ask, concerned of course. He shakes his head, "I'll be fine anyway." Slayer stood up and looked at you, still sitting and holding an empty mug. He signs at you again: "I'm sorry, but I have to go anyway. I wish I could have stayed longer." You softly smile at that.

You smile, affirming, "Well, if you need anything, I'll be here." Slayer still had his armor on when he started to leave, his heavy footsteps shaking off the flickering light. Slayer signed a "thank you" and left with nothing else. You look down, strange, and you feel a strange sensation on your cheeks. Until you notice his glove still on the bed. You quickly grab the glove and run outside, not noticing that the cup falling off, but when you get out, he is already gone.

The wind blows through your hair once again, the man you helped was not seen. It was dusk, and you can't help but feel swooned out by some man named "Slayer".

Dear God, why did you blush?

**Author's Note:**

> goodbye, slayer


End file.
